


next time around (i'll wander mazily)

by apocryphiend (sweet_juju_magumbo)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Steampunkish?, Hand Jobs, Late 1890s, M/M, Railroading, but the railroading itself isn't all that important, guys sorry I'm really bad with tags, i'll add tags as i go, still thought i should mention it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_juju_magumbo/pseuds/apocryphiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His left hand met his mouth as he shook his head, his forefinger signalling Castiel to be <em>quiet, be very, very quiet</em>, each word carefully formed on silent lips. Castiel saw the laughter, bright, in the other man’s eyes. He burned with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	next time around (i'll wander mazily)

Castiel strained against the crate boxing them into the corner of the car. His knuckles were white where they gripped the rough-hewn wood. The starch of his trousers rasped against the planks and he could feel the dull pang of splinters breaking into the skin of his knee. And Dean was all solid heat between his thighs. Which was the most pressing matter of the moment. Quite literally.

His fingers made quick work of button after button, and, there, Castiel’s vest was removed. But for the _love of god_ why was he wearing so many layers? Dean’s hands were on him but not really on him and it was infuriating. Castiel cursed and moved to rip the offending articles from his chest. Dean stilled and that was wrong and enough that Castiel could nearly scream.

Dean drew back, his wide eyes and the small _o_ of his mouth all false innocence. He made a show of looking over first one shoulder, then the other, before turning back to Castiel with a smirk he did not try to check. His left hand met his mouth as he shook his head, his forefinger signalling Castiel to be _quiet, be very, very quiet_ , each word carefully formed on silent lips. Castiel saw the laughter, bright, in the other man’s eyes. He burned with it. 

In quick succession his shirt was opened and untucked and, yes, calloused palms and fingertips pressed against his flushed skin and Dean leaned down and mouthed at the space just below his ear, Dean’s tongue traced a wet path against his jaw. Castiel lifted his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, holding him still as he sought his mouth, ravenous and frustrated and _wanting wanting wanting_. 

And, oh, Dean’s smart, beautiful hands were fumbling with his trousers and in the friction of those wonderful calloused palms around his dick was more relief than he ever expected. Dean’s eyes were on his and his hand worked hard and fast and sure, and Castiel could not be silent. Castiel could not be silent. He tried, he tried so hard to keep all of that thrilling breathlessness in his lungs and out of the air but Dean’s eyes were still on his and so he could not be silent, even though Dean had told him to be. Maybe it was a game, maybe he didn’t mean it, but with the weight of those eyes and his hands and all of his goddamned warmth Castiel could not keep silent.

Apparently, Dean had meant it, because in the next moment Castiel found a hand at his mouth and Dean’s lips at his ear. And he said to him, he said _Cas, babe, we gotta be quiet, real quiet_ and then he kissed his neck and probably left a mark somewhere along his collarbone but his hand stayed on Castiel’s mouth when he pulled away and fuck if that didn’t somehow make it all so much sweeter. Dean never once lost his rhythm. 

Castiel rolled his hips up into Dean’s fist and Dean’s grip tightened. For all Castiel enjoyed the luxury of moving slowly he was ecstatic that Dean understood, that Dean also felt that urgency pulsing underneath his skin. Even with Dean’s hand as a barrier he could hear his own muffled moans grow louder and now Dean was closing his eyes and biting at his bottom lip and his grasp stumbled. Then he was speaking under his breath with his hand still at Castiel’s mouth and his mandate of silence now lying broken on his lips. _Jesus Christ_ , and he opened his eyes, _Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, baby, I swear, I’ll do you right. I’ll do you right, Cas. I will_. And then Dean’s tongue was locking in every broken sound instead of his hand and Castiel was gone.

Castiel could barely hold himself together but he refused to let go of Dean. He kissed him and kissed him and was greedy with every second of it how he had never let himself be greedy before and, god, how that should have scared him. Dean finally broke it off. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned Castiel and himself as best he could. Castiel was amazed at how those hands built for roughness could hold so much gentleness. Castiel was always amazed by Dean. 

He was also always infuriated by Dean. So much so that a look from him should have been incendiary. Dean should have been a pile of ash between Castiel’s legs, yet, somehow, there he was, right there, still that stupid, stubborn, flesh and blood man. Every time, it was the same excuse. Every time. And every time Castiel felt so hollow and worthless and low when Dean would not allow him to reciprocate. Especially when Castiel knew he craved it.

Dean knew that Castiel knew. _Anyone_ could have known based on sight alone. There was something in his eyes that affirmed it even more loudly than did his obvious erection. But Castiel also knew, he knew, why Dean never let Castiel touch him. He knew why Dean felt he had to prove himself. He knew why Dean was scared. And he hated it. But he never said anything about it. 

Because just like Dean knew that Castiel knew, Castiel knew that Dean knew, too. And wasn’t that just a mess. Castiel knew that Dean knew exactly what he would say. And Castiel knew that Dean was terrified. It made Castiel want to hold him tight to his side and rain down holy fire on someone or something and, perhaps, it often made him want to cry. But he didn’t do those things. 

He did not push Dean farther than the farthest he could yet go. And that limit, that boundary, was, quite clearly, Castiel’s hands under Dean’s shirt or just over the edge of his trousers. That boundary was just on the cusp of Dean being reminded of his own self-worth. That boundary was balanced on the razor’s edge because Dean knew that if he fell to the other side, even _wanting_ to believe it would break him. He wouldn’t have it. Castiel kept himself quiet and Dean kept himself whole.  
So Castiel let Dean play at being worthless, and he abhorred himself for it. Castiel knew that Dean would stop him and Dean knew that Castiel would not go any further, and they danced their foolish dance and it left Castiel tired in the way that only true anger can ever really make a person tired. Oh, was he tired. 

And, yes, this time was no different than the last time. Until it was. Because this time Dean had no where to go, no excuses he could make. _I still have hours_. So Castiel reached for him again. _Dean_ , he begged, _Dean, let me do this for you_. Dean shook his head, he held Castiel’s wrists and he led his hands away. No, not this time. But this time he stayed, he stayed there with Castiel. He kissed him soft and slow. 

He kissed at his hairline and on one eye and he kissed down his neck and he asked him, _Cas, please, please just_. He swallowed around his words. _Can I - can we.._ Castiel had never heard his voice so small. Dean kissed him again and then on a heavy breath he said _Cas, please, would you let me hold you? Would you just lay here with me and let me hold you?_

Castiel could only nod. How weak he was compared to this man, this man who did not allow himself to take, to believe. This man who was righting his ridiculous layers as surely as he had removed them and who was settling himself around Castiel and the splinter-rich wood and the frigid metal floors. This man who wrapped himself tightly around Castiel, this man who mouthed pretty promises into his hair and held him.

_Just you wait, babe. I’ll find us a place, Cas, just for you and me, in some town where the neighbors won’t care if you scream another man’s name. And you better believe you’ll be screaming._

Dean was so warm. 

_We’ll have a great big bed with those fancy sheets they import from outta the country, you know, from France or some shit like that, with a thousand fuckin’ down pillows and a goddamned decorative headboard, handcarved._

Castiel watched the light skim across the boxes and the floor as it flickered in the shadow of passing towns. He listened to the click of the train across the track.

_I’ll do you so good. It’ll be great, Cas, just you and me.  
I guess, before, I meant to say that I’ll do right by you, Cas. I’ll do right by you._

Dean slept. Castiel felt his breaths steady against his skin. 

_I’ll get a hat rack for your fancy hats and your ugly damn coat. And the wallpaper will be blue. But we won’t need any decorations because I will only ever want to see you anyways, so anything else would just be a fuckin’ waste._

Dean slept. Castiel felt his breaths steady against his skin. 

Castiel closed his eyes. He could not sleep. 

He had never been more tired.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, if things go as planned, there will be future installments for this 'verse. I'm extremely invested in it despite there being less than 2000 words of it so far. If things don't go as planned - well, this can be read as a one shot. I'll be aggressive about forcing myself to write though. Promise.
> 
> Also, I refuse to apologize for my run-on sentences. They were intentional and I don't care if they're horrible. 
> 
> If anyone wants to yell at me or maybe say something cheeky (why don't Americans use the word cheeky? I love it, I wish we would use it), you can find me at [forgotten-foretold.tumblr.com](url)


End file.
